Hey Friends! Happy Wednesday, March 12th, 2025! Here’s what we’re pondering today. Check this out:

So, there’s this moment in the story—Jonah 1:17—where it says, “Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.” That’s it. One sentence. And yet, it’s one of those lines that just sits there, staring at you, daring you to ask: What’s really going on here?

Let’s back up for a second. Jonah’s running. God says, “Go to Nineveh,” and Jonah’s like, “Nope, I’m out.” He books a ticket on a ship going the opposite direction—like, literally the opposite direction, Tarshish, which is basically the edge of the known world back then. He’s not just avoiding a task; he’s avoiding the whole story God’s trying to write with his life. And then the storm hits, the sailors freak out, Jonah gets tossed overboard, and just when you think it’s over—bam—a fish. A huge fish. Swallows him whole. (Do you think it a fairy tale? It’s totally possible, check this video out)

Now, I want you to pause and picture this. A man, dripping wet, seaweed probably tangled in his hair, sinking into the dark, and then this massive creature opens its jaws and pulls him in. Three days. Three nights. In the belly of a fish. What do you do with that? Because it’s weird, right? It’s absurd. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder if this is just a wild ancient tale—or if there’s something deeper, something that hooks into your life, right here, right now.

Here’s what I think: That fish isn’t just a fish. I mean, it is—it’s scales and fins and probably smells terrible—but it’s also more. It’s a picture of what happens when you run from the thing you’re made for. Jonah’s trying to escape God’s call, his purpose, this wild invitation to go love people he doesn’t even like, and what happens? He ends up in the dark. Alone. In a place that feels like the end. But here’s the twist: it’s not the end. The fish isn’t a punishment; it’s a provision. The text says, “The Lord provided a huge fish.” Provided. That word stops me every time. God doesn’t abandon Jonah; God sends a rescue disguised as a monster.

Have you ever been there? In the belly of something? Maybe not a literal fish, but a situation, a season, a mess you made or one that just swallowed you up anyway? You ran—from a relationship, a dream, a truth about yourself—and now you’re sitting in the dark, wondering how it got this bad. Three days and three nights can feel like forever when you’re stuck, can’t they? But what if that dark place isn’t the end of your story? What if it’s the place where something new begins?

Because here’s the thing about Jonah: He doesn’t stay in the fish. Three days, three nights, and then—spoiler alert—he’s spit out onto dry land. Alive. Changed. Ready (well, sort of) to step back into the story. That time in the belly wasn’t wasted; it was preparation. It was God saying, “I’m not done with you yet.” And I wonder if that’s what God’s saying to you, too.

So, wherever you are today—running, sinking, or maybe already in the belly of something big and overwhelming—can you imagine that it might not be a tomb? That it might be a womb? A place where something new is being formed in you? The dark doesn’t get the last word. The fish doesn’t get to keep you. You’re not abandoned; you’re provided for. And those three days, those three nights—they’re not forever. They’re just long enough for you to hear the whisper: You’re still mine. We’re still going somewhere together.

What would it look like for you to stop running? To lean into the dark instead of fighting it? To trust that even the strangest, scariest provisions might be carrying you toward dry land? Because that’s the God we’re dealing with here—one who sends fish to save us, who turns runaways into prophets, who meets us in the belly of the thing we fear most and says, “This isn’t the end. This is where we start again.”

Take a breath. You’re not alone in there. And you’re not staying there. Something beautiful is coming. Can you feel it?
Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.